


Becoming

by FagurFiskur



Series: Tropes! [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Depressed Dean Winchester, M/M, Robot Castiel (Supernatural), Robot/Human Relationships, Writer Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FagurFiskur/pseuds/FagurFiskur
Summary: Dean hasn’t showered in five days. He’s got twenty-three unread messages on his phone and eight missed calls. He hasn’t bothered to check his email since last week. Being around other humans is out of the question right now but fortunately, Dean works from home and the coffee shop closest to his apartment is android-run.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Tropes! [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462234
Comments: 48
Kudos: 270
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for: coffee shop + robots + hurt/comfort.

Dean hasn’t showered in five days. He’s got twenty-three unread messages on his phone and eight missed calls. He hasn’t bothered to check his email since last week. Being around other humans is out of the question right now but fortunately, Dean works from home and the coffee shop closest to his apartment is android-run.

_Chuck’s_ isn’t a great place. The coffee is only okay and the identical android baristas creep Dean out but right now, he doesn’t care about any of that. He just needs to get his caffeine fix without feeling like he’s being judged by strangers.

The barista manning the till today is ‘Steve’, according to his name tag. He greets Dean and takes his order with polite indifference, eyes not lingering on Dean’s greasy hair or the ratty grey hoodie he’s been wearing for two weeks straight now.

Dean pays for his coffee then goes to wait by the counter to pick up his order. He’s currently the only customer, not surprising considering it’s five AM. For once, Dean’s fucked up sleeping schedule is working in his favor.

“Large black coffee to go?”

The voice is right next to Dean’s ear and he flinches back, turning around to find the barista standing not two feet away, holding Dean’s coffee. He’s identical to Steve but according to the name tag, this one is called ‘Castiel’.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles, holding out his hand.

Castiel doesn’t give him the coffee. He tilts his head, observing Dean. “Are you alright?”

Dean blinks. This is not how it’s supposed to go – the androids follow a very set script and they don’t deviate from it, ever.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re alright,” Castiel repeats. Those android-blue eyes are wide and sympathetic.

“What’s it to you?” Dean snaps, off-kilter and embarrassed. Apparently, he looks so pathetic now that even unfeeling robots are taking notice. “Just gimme my coffee.”

Castiel purses his lips and for one wild moment, Dean’s sure he’s about to be sassed by a robot.

“As you wish, sir,” Castiel says instead, finally handing over the coffee.

Dean snatches it without a word. He feels off-balance and embarrassed, and he just wants to be back in his apartment where no one can see or judge him.

He sips his coffee as soon as he’s outside, too much and too fast, burning his tongue. It kind of feels like karma.

*

It’s another three days before Dean finds himself back at _Chuck’s_. He’s showered in the meantime but the messages still sit unread on his phone – up to thirty-six now – and the phone calls still go unanswered.

It being early morning – still night, really – means that Dean is once again the only customer in the shop. There’s also just one android behind the counter this time and unfortunately, it’s just the one Dean didn’t want to see.

Castiel gives Dean an unimpressed look as he approaches, clearly remembering him as well. “How may I help you?”

“I – uh – large black coffee,” Dean says. When Castiel just looks more unimpressed, he quickly adds, “To go. Please.”

“Anything else?”

Dean shakes his head.

As Castiel prepares the coffee, Dean watches quietly. The way he looks, the way he moves seems completely human. Dean at least couldn’t tell the difference. It’s impressive and more than a little disconcerting.

Castiel shoves the coffee in the go-to cup onto the counter, snapping Dean from his thoughts.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Dean takes it, hesitating as the guilt squirms in his gut. He’s come to the uncomfortable realization that if Castiel were human, he wouldn’t have hesitated to apologize for his rudeness. It doesn’t seem right not to, just because of that.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Castiel regards him coolly.

“About last time,” Dean elaborates. “That was… I’m not usually rude to service workers.”

“I suppose I am the exception,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean shakes his head. “It wasn’t anything personal. I was just having a really bad day. You didn’t deserve to have your head bitten off for asking a question.”

Castiel looks surprised at that. He tilts his head and Dean squirms under the intensity of his gaze, all too aware of how filthy his hoodie has gotten and the fact that he hasn’t bothered to shave since he last showered.

“Is today better?” Castiel finally asks.

“Not really,” Dean admits.

Castiel’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. His palm is getting uncomfortably warm from holding the coffee. “Listen, I gotta-” he gestures at the exit.

Castiel nods. “Enjoy your coffee.”

He says it with a smile. Not that service-industry, my-bosses-tell-me-I-have-to kind of smile but small and genuine. It makes something in Dean’s chest constrict.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

The bell chimes as he exits, much too loud in the otherwise quiet space.

*

Dean stops by _Chuck’s_ during the afternoon a couple of days later and Castiel isn’t working. There’s Jimmy, Emmanuel, and Lucifer ( _what the hell_ ), and they’re all identical to Castiel but none of them are him. They don’t ask uncomfortably personal questions or give any indication that Dean is different from any other customer.

Dean gets his coffee to go and ignores the pang of disappointment.

The next morning, a couple of hours before sunrise, Dean drops by again and there Castiel is, working the graveyard shift by himself.

“So, you only work the night shifts?”

It occurs to Dean only after he’s said it just how stalker-y he sounds. Like he’s been paying attention to Castiel’s schedule.

But if Castiel is at all put off by or creeped out, he doesn’t show it. “Yes. I’ve been told I’m better suited for it.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck. It’s an oddly human gesture. “I’m not very good with people.”

“But you’re an android,” Dean says, confused. “What are people really expecting?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He looks uncomfortable and it occurs to Dean that him being an android isn’t the problem; it’s the fact that he doesn’t really behave like one. He’s personable in the way the rest of them aren’t, a little too intense for comfort.

Dean clears his throat, feeling distinctly like he just put his foot in his mouth. “Well, I think you’re doing fine.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in a faint smile. “Thank you, Dean. Did you want anything?”

“Oh.” Dean shifts, warmth rising to his cheeks. “Um, yeah, large black coffee to go?”

“You’ve got it.”

*

Dean’s not sure how many unread messages there are on his phone now but it was up to forty-two the last time he checked. Most of them are from Charlie, because she is the only person Dean knows who is more stubborn than he is. He hasn’t opened any of her messages but he sends her a quick update to let her know he’s alive, just to make sure she doesn’t show up unannounced at his apartment to check.

Most of the rest of the texts are from Benny but there’s also a couple from Bobby and two from Tessa, Dean’s editor. He hasn’t opened those because he has nothing new to show her, so why bother?

He doesn’t need to check to know that there are no messages from Sam.

Given that he’s ignoring every other person in his life, it’s strange how quickly it’s become routine to go down to _Chuck’s_ at unholy hours in the morning and chat it up with Cas.

Not that Dean would call them friends or anything but maybe that’s what makes it easier. There are no expectations when he’s talking to Cas. He doesn’t have to be fine.

Sometimes Steve is working too and those nights, Dean takes his coffee and goes. Other nights, it’s just him and Cas.

The bell chimes as Dean enters and Cas calls without looking up from the till, “Large black coffee to go?”

It’s probably an android thing. Then again, Dean could be getting just that predictable.

“Got it in one.”

Cas gets to work and Dean leans against the counter while he waits, watching. It still freaks him out a little, seeing the way Cas moves. There’s nothing off about it that Dean can put his finger on; maybe it’s that those movements are just a bit too smooth, not so much practiced as predetermined by some program.

“What is it that you do?” Cas asks, cutting off Dean’s train of thought.

“Do?”

“For work,” Cas clarifies. “Or school, most of our late-night customers are students.”

Dean snorts. “Go figure. I’m, uh, I’m a writer.”

The word feels awkward coming out of his mouth. No matter how many times he says it, it always feels like a pose.

“Do you not enjoy it?” Cas asks.

“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Why?”

“You were making a face.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I was not making a face. And how would you know, you weren’t even looking!"

Cas gives him a deadpan look and Dean blushes because, oh right, android. For all he knows, Cas has a second set of eyes hidden underneath that surprisingly realistic head of hair.

“I’m just- nevermind,” Dean says. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

Cas approaches, handing Dean his cup. Their fingers brush as Dean takes it, causing a small shock of static electricity.

“It’s what I’m programmed to do,” Cas says.

Dean takes a sip. The coffee is a little too hot still and it tastes as mediocre as it always does. It wouldn’t surprise him if every cup Cas makes was identical to the last. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Sometimes, then. It depends on the customer.”

“What about right now?”

Cas smiles but doesn’t respond. “What do you write?”

Not much lately, Dean thinks with a grimace. It’s been days since he even got one word down.

“Mostly short stories,” he says. He’s not sure what possesses him to add, “And it hasn’t been published but, uh, some poetry, too.”

“Poetry?” Cas repeats.

“Yeah. You read it?”

Cas ducks his head, looking bashful, and Dean finds himself thinking that’s a good look on him. If he were human, he might even be blushing.

“I do,” he admits. “I enjoy it very much. I’ve even tried to write some myself.”

His voice goes quieter as he says that last part, embarrassed almost, and Dean feels a sudden swell of affection that catches him off guard.

“Maybe you could show it to me sometime?” he asks before he can stop himself. At Cas’ obvious reluctance, he adds, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

Cas huffs out a quiet laughter. “I’ll think about it.”

“All I ask,” Dean says, grinning over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip.

*

Despite Dean’s precautions, Charlie drops by his apartment unannounced a couple of days later. Apparently, ‘still alive, stop texting’ counts as a cry for help, go figure.

Her visit is short because Dean’s apartment is a mess and he’s not gonna let her in but she still manages to pester him on a long list of topics from the doorway: to call Bobby ( _fine_ ), to take a shower ( _it’s only been three days_ ), to go outside ( _does going to_ Chuck’s _count?_ ), to see his therapist ( _hell no_ ).

The moment she brings up Sam, he slams the door in her face.

He doesn’t go to _Chuck’s_ that night, his mood too foul and his energy sapped. He sleeps through the night and most of the day, finding himself wide-awake the following evening as his sleeping schedule has been thrown for yet another curve.

It’s a little past midnight, so not the hour he usually visits, but Dean needs to go outside and feel like something resembling human for at least a few minutes.

_Chuck’s_ is unusually busy – there’s two people sitting by the windows, chatting over their coffee, and for once there’s a line, albeit consisting of just one person. Dean waits, nodding at Cas when he waves at him from behind the counter. Steve is working tonight as well and he’s the one to take Dean’s order while Cas makes the coffees.

As Dean waits, his phone starts ringing. It’s on silent but the vibrations are obnoxiously loud, almost worse than the ringtone. Dean doesn’t need to check to know that it’s Charlie so he ignores his phone, letting it ring out.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” Cas asks as he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you mind your business?” Dean snipes, reaching out and snatching the coffee from Cas’ grasp before he can hand it to him.

He knows he’s being a dick but he can’t help it. He feels tired and frustrated with himself and with Charlie, and allowing it to transform into anger is all too easy.

Going out tonight was probably a mistake.

“I was just asking a question,” Cas says, annoyed. “There’s no need to bite my head off.”

The words ping something in Dean’s head and he knows, he _knows_ he should just apologize and go home but it’s like he’s watching himself from the outside, unable to control what he’s saying.

“Then stop asking questions. Just do your damn job and stop acting like you care when we both know you’re incapable of it!”

He’s not being loud but the words echo around the shop anyway, causing everyone to fall silent. Dean is all too aware that the other customers are now looking at him and even Steve has stopped to stare but he doesn’t care about any of them. Doesn’t care about anything but Cas and the visible hurt he’s radiating.

“That’s not true,” he says weakly. “You know it’s not true.”

Dean swallows. Might as well finish this, push Cas completely away. “No, I don’t.”

He leaves before Cas can respond, throwing his coffee in the trash on his way out.

*

Dean knows he’s fucked up. He’s let this escalate too far, let himself sink too low, and now he’s hurting not just himself but the people around him.

At a loss for anything else to do, he picks up the phone and finally calls Charlie back.

She picks up on the second ring. “Dean? Is that really you or did someone steal your phone?”

“Very funny,” Dean says dryly. He rubs his eyes, already feeling dread pooling in his gut. This shouldn’t be this hard. “I, uh. I think I need some help.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end. “Yeah, of course. What can I do?”

*

It’s been two weeks since Dean last visited _Chuck’s_.

He’s been to see his therapist four times in that period, at first escorted by Charlie and then managing the last visit by himself. He’s been out to meet up with friends, all of them politely ignoring the weeks of radio silence and picking up where they left off. Even Bobby’s been by, mostly to bitch at Dean for never calling and to complain that the elevator in his apartment building smells like weed.

He’s been in contact with Tessa, getting an extension on the deadline for the first draft of his novel and a gentle kick in the pants to just finish polishing his short story collection so it can be sent to print. His sleeping schedule is finally approaching something regular again, though it’s still not exactly normal.

He still hasn’t contacted Sam but, y’know, baby steps.

The one other thing hanging over Dean’s head is his last conversation with Cas. He’s not sure their friendship can be salvaged but he at least owes Cas an apology and an explanation. Android or no, it’s obvious that Dean hurt his feelings.

On the short walk to _Chuck’s_ , Dean practices over and over in his head just what he’s gonna say to Cas. He briefly wonders if he’ll be able to say anything if there are other people around but that turns out to be a moot point; when he enters the shop, the only person there is Cas.

He looks up as Dean enters, and he’s clearly shocked to see him but schools his expression quickly enough into a blank stare.

“Welcome to _Chuck’s_ , how may I help you?”

Dean winces. Okay, so he deserves the cold shoulder but it still doesn’t feel good.

He opens his mouth, panics as he realizes he has no idea what to start with, and ends up blurting out, “My dad died.”

Cas blinks. “I’m… sorry?”

“That’s not-” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“Your father didn’t die?”

Dean clears his throat. “No, he did. I just – I’m not expecting you to forgive me or feel sorry for me or whatever, just because my dad died. I just needed you to know that what I said the other day had nothing to do with you.”

At the mention of their last meeting, Cas stiffens. He doesn’t say anything and Dean’s not sure if that’s a good sign. It at least means that he can keep making an idiot of himself until Cas sees it fit to stop him.

“I’ve got a lot of issues,” hah, understatement, “that I haven’t really been dealing with. And I just… I get angry sometimes, ‘cause it’s easier. But I’m starting to work through it now and I hope you do forgive me ‘cause I want us to stay friends.”

Cas is still staring wordlessly at him. The urge to look away or to turn tail and flee is strong but Dean resists it. He got to say his piece, now it’s Cas’ turn.

“So, yeah,” Dean finishes lamely. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

Cas finally looks away. His expression is impossible to read.

“We’re friends?”

The question catches Dean off guard. That is _not_ what he expected Cas’ takeaway to be.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “if you want?”

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Cas confesses quietly. His expression shifts, becoming determined. “Yes, we are friends.”

The tension leaves Dean’s body and he laughs at the relief of it. “Okay. Awesome.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He smiles and Dean didn’t even realize how much he missed the sight of it until just now. “I forgive you but you have to stop getting mad at me for trying to be nice.”

“I will, I promise.”

Cas nods. “Good. And don’t think I’m giving you a discount on your coffee.”

“Buddy, it’s a buck fifty a cup. I think I can handle it.”

*

Dean is relieved to fall back into the same routine with Cas. Things are a little awkward his first couple of visits to _Chuck’s_ but they smooth over soon enough. Cas is easy to talk to and being around him makes Dean feel comfortable in a way he can’t quite define.

Charlie would love him, Dean thinks, but he hesitates at the thought of actually introducing them. He kind of likes having Cas to himself.

One early morning, Dean comes running into the shop to escape the torrential rain. He shakes himself off as he enters, running his fingers through his hair to keep it from sticking to his head.

“Dean,” Cas greets him warmly, cup of coffee already ready on the counter. “I have something to show you.”

Dean approaches the counter, wincing at the way his shoes squelch as he walks. He should’ve just sucked it up and put on some rainboots. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember when we talked about poetry?”

Vaguely, but there’s one part of it Dean definitely recalls. “Are you gonna show me something you wrote?”

Cas nods, a hint of shyness in the way he holds out his touchpad to Dean. “It’s not very good but-”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dean teases, grabbing the pad.

He picks up the coffee with his other hand, sipping as he reads:

_“Green is the color of grass_

_Or so I am told although I have yet_

_To discover that for myself._

_But is it green like the dollar bills_

_I am handed in exchange for warm cups of coffee_

_Or green like your eyes?_

_I hope it is the latter.”_

Warmth rises to Dean’s cheeks. He can guess the subject of Cas’ poem easily enough – just how many green-eyed customers is he likely to have developed a personal relationship with? – but he can’t work out what it means. Is Cas aware of the fact that humans consider poetry to be romantic? Did he mean it to come off that way?

Would Dean mind it if he did?

“What do you think?”

Dean looks up. Cas is watching him anxiously, clutching one hand in the other and clearly preparing himself for the worst.

Dean hands him the pad. “I like it.”

“You do?” Cas glances down at it, then back at Dean. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s very,” _don’t say romantic_ , “evocative.”

Christ, way to sound pretentious.

Cas smiles, hugging the pad to his chest. “Thank you. It isn’t easy, writing from personal experience when you have so little of it.”

Dean nods absentmindedly. Then he pauses as he realizes the full meaning of Cas’ words. “Wait, so have you never really seen grass?”

“Do you see any in here?”

Stupidly enough, Dean looks around. “No, but- you must have seen it someplace else?”

“I’ve never left this building.”

Dean’s brain grinds to a halt. “What?”

“I haven’t had reason to,” Cas says. “I work on the first floor and rest in the facilities upstairs.”

“Yeah, but – _never_?”

“Well, I am only six months old.”

“ _What_.”

Six. Months. Old.

Dean just had romantic notions about the android equivalent of a toddler. He’s taken his anger issues out on that toddler twice now. Jesus fucking Christ, Cas has had to deal with Dean’s crap for almost half his life.

“That doesn’t mean I am the same as a six-month-old human,” Cas says, as if he can tell what Dean is thinking. “My programming holds extensive knowledge on a number of topics, including human behavior. I probably know more about it than you do.”

Well, Dean brought that one on himself.

“Okay, so, brushing past the whole ‘six-months-old’ thing,” Dean grimaces, “how have you still never left this building? Are you not allowed to?”

Cas shifts, looking nervous. “It’s not what I’m programmed for.”

“Is that a no? What would happen if you were to leave right now?”

“Nothing,” Cas admits. “It doesn’t happen often but my supervisors do have other androids on hold in case someone abandons their post.”

“So, you could leave?” When Cas just looks increasingly uncomfortable, Dean sighs. “Do you not want to leave? Is that it?”

Cas shrugs. “Where would I go?”

“Somewhere with grass?” Dean suggests. “The park? The beach? I don’t know, fucking Las Vegas?”

Actually, Dean would pay good money to see Cas deal with Vegas.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to see other places,” Cas says. “But I’ve never stepped a foot outside this building. I wouldn’t know how to do it.”

He doesn’t say it but he’s broadcasting it so loudly he might as well have: Cas is scared. And Dean can’t exactly blame him.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s already lukewarm.

“Dunno what to tell you, Cas. Can’t have those personal experiences if you don’t risk something.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Judging by the look on his face, he’s deep in thought.

*

It’s May 3.

Dean was planning on calling Sam yesterday. He dialed his number multiple times part way through before hanging up. Even got up to five digits a couple of times.

He just can’t figure out what to say. The last time he talked to Sam, it was to tell him their father had died and all Sam had to say in response was that he wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral.

And that was their first conversation in almost two years.

Dean doesn’t wanna dwell on Sam or his stupid birthday but his mind keeps circling back to it time and time again. It’s been too many birthdays since he saw his little brother last. Dean doesn’t even know if he ever stopped growing.

He’s in a lousy mood by the time he heads down to _Chuck’s_ and Cas can obviously spot it from a mile away. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Dean manages not to be a rude piece of shit this time as he orders his coffee.

After they’ve sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Dean puts them both out of their misery.

“It was my brother’s birthday yesterday.”

Cas stills. When he talks, it’s clear he’s picking his words carefully. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t like talking about it.” Dean leans on his elbow. If he’s being mopey, he’s got reason to be. “I haven’t seen Sam since he went off to college.”

“Why not?”

Dean hates telling this story. He’s really only done it twice, once to his therapist and once to Charlie, but he was wasted that time so he’s not even sure that counts.

But then, he knows Cas isn’t gonna judge him. It makes it a little easier. “Dad didn’t want him to go. They got into a huge fight and when it got down to it, I basically had to pick a side. I guess I picked wrong.”

“But your father is dead,” Cas says, as if Dean needs the reminder. “Surely that must change things.”

Dean shrugs. “You’d think so.”

“Have you told him that you want to make up?”

“He knows I do. I called him after Dad died, told him he should come down for the funeral.”

“Was that all you told him?” At Dean’s incredulous look, Cas gives him a patient smile. “I’ve found that humans sometimes need these kinds of things spelled out for them. They tend to assume the worst, otherwise.”

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn’t have an argument here.

“Well, he should know,” he settles on, just to be petulant.

Cas takes the cup from Dean’s hand and Dean startles, realizing that he emptied it without paying attention.

“You should call your brother,” Cas says.

Dean stares at him, something stirring in his chest he doesn’t have a word for.

“You sure they didn’t program you to be a bartender?”

“I do make a mean Tom Collins,” Cas deadpans.

*

Dean doesn’t call Sam. Whatever conversation they need to have feels too important to have over the phone.

He has Sam’s address. He also has a nice car that’s been cooped up in the city for too long and a job he can do from anywhere. There is literally no reason he can’t take off for a few days on a cross-country road trip.

There’s just one thing he needs to do first.

The sun has just begun to rise when Dean parks outside of _Chuck’s_. It’s far later in the morning than he’s usually there and there are a couple of customers inside, the very beginnings of the morning rush, but Cas is still behind the counter, along with another android, probably just about to finish up his shift.

Dean gets inside, walking past the line by the counter and getting some angry grumbles from the lady up front.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas looks up from where he’s working the espresso machine and smiles at Dean. “Hello, Dean. You’re later than usual.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts on his feet. This feels like a bad idea but it’s too late to turn back now. “I’m going to California. To see Sam.”

Cas falters for just a moment before continuing his work, motions smooth and practiced. “Oh.”

Dean waits as he finishes up. Once the order is ready and Cas has a moment to talk, he continues:

“Come with me.”

It comes out as barely more than a whisper but he knows that Cas heard it, because he goes completely still.

“What?”

“Come with me,” Dean repeats.

“Dean,” Cas says, and it already sounds like a rejection.

“You said you could leave, so leave. You’ve got somewhere to go and you’ve got someone to go with.”

Cas looks at him, eyes wide and begging him to understand. “Dean, I – you don’t want me to go with you.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” Dean counters. Whatever Cas is feeling, this much he knows. He’s never been so sure of anything. “Come with me to California, Cas.”

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Dean is vaguely aware that he’s causing a scene right now but it doesn’t matter.

“Steve,” Cas finally says.

“Yes, Castiel?” Steve answers pleasantly.

Without breaking eye-contact with Dean, Cas reaches behind him and loosens his apron strings. “I quit.”

“You what?”

Cas doesn’t respond, shucking the apron off and leaving it in a heap on the counter. Dean watches, heart hammering in his chest, as Cas opens the gate between them and steps through. It’s strange, having his view of Cas be completely unobstructed.

“Are you coming?”

Dean shakes himself. He grins at Cas, feeling giddy as their steps fall into an easy rhythm. It’s not until they’re by the exit that Cas hesitates, that he looks unsure.

“It’s okay,” Dean tells him.

He swings the door open with one hand, holding the other out for Cas. After a moment, Cas takes it, intertwining his fingers with Dean’s and squeezing tightly. It doesn’t feel quite like holding a human hand, the skin of a slightly different texture, but that’s okay. It’s Cas.

“C’mon,” Dean says. “California’s waiting.”

Cas takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and nods.

They step outside.

**Author's Note:**

> in case anyone is wonder how dean is living on a writer's salary considering how little writing he gets done during the timeframe of this fic, i'm picturing this society as one where people generally have a higher standard of living and don't need as much money since androids do so much of the work that needs to get done. y'know, the way society *should* work as automation becomes the norm.


End file.
